


The Technology of Silence

by brocanteur



Category: Friday Night Lights
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-03
Updated: 2016-04-03
Packaged: 2018-05-31 01:10:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6449512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brocanteur/pseuds/brocanteur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It had felt good, too good, and they’d kept at it. Because when they were kissing they weren’t fighting. And when they were kissing they forgot about Tim Riggins and Jason Street and Dillon football, and life after high school, and <em>everything</em>."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Technology of Silence

The discussion slipped into argument and the inevitable raising of voices, until finally it culminated with Tyra abruptly pulling her truck off to the side of the road. She cut the engine and got out of the driver’s seat in an angry flurry, and Lyla just watched for long seconds as she stormed off into the field beside them. When it looked like she wasn’t coming back any time soon, Lyla cranked down the window and called out, “What the hell are you doing?”  
  
Tyra just raised a hand, gesturing for silence. She didn’t even look in Lyla’s direction.  
  
“Tyra…”  
  
“Shut up, Garrity!” Lyla rolled her eyes and opened the door to get out, but Tyra glared at her and raised a finger as she said, “Don’t, I really need you to be quiet right now.”  
  
“What did I _say_ to get you so damned pissed off at me?” Lyla asked, crossing her arms. “You know what? Screw that. Why are you _always_ so pissed off at me?”  
  
Tyra shook her head, curling her lip into a humorless smile as she gazed somewhere off into the horizon. Lyla took a step closer. It had rained the night before, and as she stepped off the road her shoes sank a little in mud. She could see the edges of Tyra’s boots were already caked with the stuff. When she saw Lyla’s feint, Tyra shot her a look of warning. “I swear to God, Garrity…”  
  
“What? You don’t want to stay in Dillon? I get it.”  
  
Snorting, Tyra completely turned so that her back was to Lyla. Her hands were on her hips, and Lyla kept her gaze trained on the spot of skin that showed where her shirt rode up above her jeans. “I’m not staying and I’m not following you around to some college town just so I can be a waitress there too. Let’s not kid ourselves about what we got here.”  
  
“What do we have here?” Lyla asked, feeling any lingering anger dissipate. She wanted to reach out, to touch the back of Tyra’s neck (a few strands of blonde hair had slipped from her ponytail, and a slight breeze made them flutter), but she stood so rigidly that Lyla didn’t dare.  
  
“Nothing. I don’t know.”  
  
And that was that, because Lyla didn’t know either. All she knew was that they’d formed some kind of truce after State, that it had turned into something she couldn’t explain when one day, out of the clear blue sky, Tyra had cornered her in the cab of her truck and kissed her, soundly. It had felt good, too good, and they’d kept at it. Because when they were kissing they weren’t fighting. And when they were kissing they forgot about Tim Riggins and Jason Street and Dillon football, and life after high school, and _everything_.  
  
Lyla sighed and looked up at the sky, which was gray and augured more rain. “Can we go please?”  
  
Tyra turned and gave Lyla the once-over, smirking. She absent-mindedly kicked some mud off her boot. “You mind getting dirty, do you?”  
  
“I mind standing here, freezing my ass off for no good reason.”  
  
Something in Tyra’s expression shifted, and she started walking toward Lyla like a cat stalking its prey. “Can you imagine what the folks in this rotten little town would say if they knew about you and me, Garrity?”  
  
“Knew what?” Lyla replied, placidly.  
  
The smile that formed on Tyra’s face didn’t quite reach her eyes. She towered over Lyla, and Lyla guessed she was trying to intimidate, standing as close as she was, but that didn’t work anymore. Not when Lyla knew all she had to do was reach up and, with tentative fingers, stroke the side of Tyra’s face.  
  
Tyra wrapped her hand around Lyla’s wrist and squeezed. “We should get out of here,” she murmured.  
  
Fingers slid smoothly down to Tyra’s neck, caressed her nape. “What for?”  
  
“Because it’s the middle of the day and I don’t have a reputation to speak of, but you do.”  
  
Lyla laughed. “Do I? Since when, Tyra?”  
  
Tyra’s searching gaze burned and Lyla was suddenly tired of talking, so she did what she’d learned to do these past few months, what they’d both learned to do when they were tired of talking. She gripped the back of Tyra’s neck and pulled until she could reach to kiss her, her mouth connecting squarely, but awkwardly. Tyra response was an “Oomph” and a push toward the side of the truck. But the sudden move had Lyla stumbling, slipping in day old mud. Tyra’s strong hands weren’t enough to keep her upright, and before she knew it she was on her ass and Tyra was looking down at her, hand over her mouth. “Oh, damn,” she chortled. “God I’m, I’m real sorry, Garrity.” Then she started laughing outright.  
  
“Nice. Thanks a lot,” Lyla replied, palms sinking into the mud. She could feel it, cool and sticky, all over the back of her legs, her ass.  
  
Tyra didn’t stop laughing when she offered Lyla a hand. “Sorry,” she repeated.  
  
Lyla took Tyra’s hand and pulled with all her strength, and Tyra fell on hands and knees, hard. “Goddamnit!”  
  
“Serves you right,” Lyla said, feeling triumphant for once. She started getting up, but she heard Tyra growl, “No you don’t,” and soon it wasn’t just her ass and legs that were in mud, but her entire back up to her shoulders as she strained against Tyra’s hold. There was a glint in her eyes that Lyla had come to recognize, that she looked for whenever they were together. Sometimes she thought she lived for it. “I guess now we’re both dirty.”  
  
Tyra smirked, her hips pressing suggestively into Lyla’s. “Lyla Garrity rolling around in the mud.”  
  
“With Tyra Collette,” Lyla added, lips twitching. “Kiss me again.”  
  
“What, now? Here?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
Tyra smiled. “Someone could drive by.”  
  
“Clearly I don’t care.”  
  
Tyra dipped her head and they kissed deeply, Lyla clutching at the waistband of Tyra’s jeans with mud-caked fingers. She pressed her knee up between Tyra’s legs and Tyra moaned indelicately.  
  
When Tyra pulled back, they were both breathing shakily. “Come on,” she said, tongue darting between her lips, wetting them. She stood easily and helped Lyla to her feet.  
  
“Where?”  
  
“Get in the truck, Garrity,” Tyra replied, sly smile on her face. From the knee down, her legs were covered in mud, and there were traces of it wherever Lyla’s hands had wandered. Lyla didn’t want to think what she looked like. She started brushing some of it off, but gave up when Tyra waved her into the truck impatiently.  
  
They were back on the highway in seconds, traveling for a mile or so before Tyra turned down a dirt road. It was obvious she knew exactly where they were going. After a few minutes, she stopped the truck near a grove of citrus trees. There was nothing more as far as the eye could see. Just grass and trees and the big Texas sky above. “So we’re alone here?” Lyla asked.  
  
Turning in her seat until her back was facing the driver’s side door, Tyra leaned into it and raised her eyebrows suggestively, but she didn’t say a word.  
  
“You should unbuckle your belt,” Lyla whispered. Tyra lips quirked but she complied, her fingers moving at deliberate speed. When she was finished, she placed her hands on her lap and waited. “And your jeans,” Lyla continued, feeling flushed. “Take those off.”  
  
Tyra cleared her throat and stretched her legs out until they were on Lyla’s lap, muddy boots dirtying her thighs. “You’re gonna have to help me,” she replied, wiggling her feet.  
  
Lyla did, pulling each boot off with a little effort. She noticed there was dirt beneath her fingernails, but it really didn’t matter. Not when Tyra was shimmying out of her jeans. When she’d finished, and there was a pile of denim on the floor of the truck, Lyla’s gaze traveled up the length of Tyra’s long, lean legs.  
  
“You’re really pretty,” she blurted. She blushed at the look Tyra gave her, and went about the business of slowly running her hand up and down one smooth thigh.  
  
“Thanks,” Tyra replied dismissively, like maybe she’d heard that particular line a million times before. Lyla was sure she had.  
  
She shifted until her knees were on the bucket seat and she crawled closer to Tyra, murmuring, “I mean it. Not just,” she squeezed the thigh she’d been stroking, “your body. Or,” she leaned forward and slid her lips along Tyra’s jaw, “your face. But…” She lifted her hand and pressed it over Tyra’s heart. She didn’t say the words, because it would’ve been cheesy and lame and Tyra would have laughed. Instead, she added, “You know. You’re not so bad.”  
  
Tyra covered Lyla’s hand with her own, slid them both down until Lyla’s palm fully covered Tyra’s breast. Lyla gave it a tentative squeeze that made Tyra smile wickedly. “You’re not as bad as I thought either, Garrity.”  
  
“No?” Tyra wasn’t wearing a bra, and Lyla could feel her nipple through the thin cotton shirt she wore. Lyla rubbed her thumb across it and was gratified with a little gasp.  
  
Tyra ducked her head in response and caught Lyla’s mouth with her own, scraping her teeth along Lyla’s lower lip, tugging on it, sucking it into her mouth. Lyla groaned, feeling like her entire world consisted of the reactions elicited by Tyra’s mouth and her hands.  
  
The echo of wet lips sliding across one another filled the truck, reverberated in Lyla’s ears. She pushed her tongue into Tyra’s mouth, which tasted like the Dr. Pepper they’d shared earlier and the mint gum she still had pressed against her molars. Their bodies were mashed together on the bucket seat, Tyra’s arms wrapped tightly around Lyla’s waist, holding her, keeping her from losing her balance as she held herself over Tyra, both her hands gripping Tyra’s breasts, stroking.  
  
“God, baby.” The endearment satisfied Lyla more than she would ever admit. Only when they were lost in each other did Tyra call her anything other than Garrity.  
  
“Tell me what you want,” Lyla exhaled, mouth moving south, leaving a wet trail down Tyra’s neck. Tyra made a sound at the back of her throat, like she was trying hard to form words. When they’d first started this, when it became more than just stealing kisses in dark corners, Lyla asked Tyra that question and Tyra balked, couldn’t say anything at all. It took weeks of coaxing for Tyra to make tentative demands (“touch me,” “kiss me,” “there, yes _there_ ”), and Lyla wondered if that was because no one had ever asked before. “Tell me,” she urged, biting at the swell of Tyra’s breast.  
  
Tyra made another strangled sound, one that rumbled deep in her chest. “I want you to go down on me,” she whimpered, and Lyla hid her smile by wrapping her lips around the fabric that surrounded Tyra’s nipple. She tugged, and Tyra jerked, moaning and hissing at once. Lyla took the opportunity to shift, bringing her hand up between Tyra’s thighs, feeling damp cotton beneath her fingertips. There was unbelievable heat there, the kind that made Lyla tamp down a moan of her own, made her press her own legs together with want. She moved her hand, stroking less cautiously, watching as Tyra closed her eyes, began mewling, trembling. “Lyla,” she breathed. “Don’t.”  
  
“Don’t what?” Lyla asked, mouth still on Tyra’s breast, leaving wet spots as she sucked and tugged at the skin beneath the shirt Tyra was still wearing.  
  
“Tease.” Another moan, as Lyla rolled her thumb over Tyra’s clit, and Tyra impatiently bucked her hips. “Fuck, you’ve gotten good at this.”  
  
Lyla slid back on the bucket seat, hooking her fingers beneath the elastic of Tyra’s underwear, tugging. She didn’t bother hiding the proud smile that stretched across her face. If she’d gotten good at it, it was because she’d made a concerted effort, decided that if she was going to do this with Tyra (and Tyra was the only girl she could think she’d want to do this with; had to be the only person in the world she’d want to do anything like this with so badly), then she’d learn. She’d listen and she’d gauge and she’d experiment and practice, and she’d make Tyra tremble in her arms.  
  
“No gloating, Garrity.”  
  
Lyla’s smile didn’t diminish one bit as she slowly finished sliding Tyra’s underwear off and they joined her discarded jeans. “‘Course not.”  
  
“None at all,” Tyra murmured.  
  
“Why would I gloat, Tyra?” Lyla responded, repositioning herself. Tyra had kindly hooked one foot behind the passenger’s headrest, making it less difficult for Lyla to bury her face where she’d been wanting to for what now seemed like an eternity. She vaguely heard as heavy drops of water began hitting the roof of the truck, but by then it didn’t matter if the whole sky came down upon them.  
  
Tyra made an indistinguishable noise as Lyla licked carefully, her sense memory and instinct dictating where her tongue roamed and lingered. She was lost in the taste and the sounds, and the far off knowledge that above them the clouds had opened up and were pouring rain.  
  
“Lyla?” Two syllables, whimpered weakly, muffled by two shaky hands. Lyla looked up from her task for a moment, staring openly as Tyra rubbed her face, let out a puff of breath. Her face was pink.  
  
“What?” Lyla whispered, placing a delicate kiss on sensitive flesh.  
  
“More…please…”  
  
Lyla complied, because she knew that if Tyra was asking this way, this softly--voice lilting, small--she needed it, craved it. So she gripped Tyra’s thighs tightly, and licked surely, rhythmically, daring to glance up at Tyra once. What she saw was Tyra, heel of her hand between her teeth, biting down, eyes closed. Not breathing anymore, but waiting, straining. It was raining so hard now that the windshield obscured the clarity of the outside world, replacing it with millions of convex filters that marred, distorted.  
  
Wrapping her lips around Tyra’s clit, Lyla sucked, not gently anymore. She built another rhythm, less steady, less regular, urging Tyra to make sound again, to breathe. To let go. “Baby,” she pleaded, using her teeth not to harm, but to shake Tyra’s body into surrender or rebellion, she didn’t know. She just wanted to hear it, wanted to hear the guttural sound that now tore through Tyra’s mouth, that expelled the air she’d been tightly holding in her lungs, because Lyla knew that feeling. Lyla lived to recreate that feeling.  
  
Tyra was breathing raggedly, chest rising and falling with the effort. Lyla’s head was pressed to her belly, and she listened for the tiny whimpers that inevitably came at the end of each exhalation. They stayed that way, and after a while, Tyra’s breathing normalized and she murmured, “It’s raining.”  
  
“Yeah,” Lyla replied, nodding, absently stroking Tyra’s calf.  
  
“Hey.” Fingers slipped into her hair, and Lyla turned her head to look up. “Come ‘ere.”  
  
“You don’t have to…”  
  
Tyra cocked her head and rolled her eyes, but she was smiling warmly. “Garrity, would you get up here?” Lyla did, and she was rewarded when a pair of strong, capable hands tugged at her waistband, began undoing her button fly. Her gaze locked with Tyra’s, whose face turned serious when she added, “Kiss me.”  
  
She did, they did. Slow and hard and wet and hot. A kiss that promised nothing and everything. When Tyra’s fingers pushed inside her, Lyla cried out, and she began riding them with no sense of time or space or color. She closed her eyes and all she felt were a warm mouth and a slick tongue, and fingers that made her ache beautifully, completely.  
  
When she came she whispered Tyra’s name, choking on the sound, and Tyra held her, shushed her, rocked her. Still devoid of any sense of time or space or color, Lyla held on.  
  
“You all right?” She heard Tyra’s voice, so close. Lips brushed against her ear.  
  
“Yeah.” Lyla’s voice was shaky and high. She blindly pressed her face against Tyra’s neck. She wanted nothing to do with reality. “Can we stay here a while?”  
  
“We can do that…” There was amusement in Tyra’s voice, but Lyla ignored it, reached to place her fingers across her lips, silencing her. She kept her eyes firmly closed, inhaling the fragrance of Tyra’s shampoo, feeling their breasts pressed together.  
  
She didn’t move again, not for a very long time; she just held on.


End file.
